


Hard Time

by JJJunky



Category: Young Riders
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Cody and The Kid are trying to get over what happened in Prosperity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Time

Hard Time  
By JJJunky

 

The creaking of rope against wood filtered through his sleep-drugged brain. Compelled by a foreboding curiosity, he opened his eyes to see legs swinging slowly in mid-air. His gaze traveled upwards to the torso. As his vision focused on the contorted features of his friend, his body spasmed. Pushing away from the wall, he crawled across the short space separating him from the lifeless body. Hugging the dangling legs to his chest, he cried out in pain and anger at the injustice that had taken this life.

"Kid, wake up." Buck gently shook his friend's thin shoulder. When the soft moaning rose in volume, he shook a little harder. "Come on, Kid, wake up."

Leaning down from the bunk above the Kid's, Lou softly questioned, "What's wrong, Buck?"

"The Kid's dreamin' again," explained the Indian. 

"The same as the others?" the young woman asked throwing back the sheet demurely covering her small frame and jumping to the floor.

The sadness in Buck's eyes was invisible in the dark bunkhouse, but it was clearly audible in his soft acknowledgement, "The same one he's had since our return from Prosperity."

"What's goin' on?" called a sleep-slurred voice.

"Nothin', Jimmy," Lou loudly whispered, "go back to sleep."

A concern the owner would never admit to tinged the deep tones, "How do you expect a body ta sleep with all yer jabberin'."

Slowly waking from the nightmare that had plagued him since he'd been arrested in a little town called Prosperity, the Kid listened to the conversation as it played around him. He knew he was the subject of concern and it embarrassed him - almost as much as the tears he felt drying on his cheeks. For once, the Kid was grateful for the suffocating heat of the August night. It evaporated the signs of distress. Asleep or awake he could still see Richard's body hanging from the cell rafters. All that was left of the soul-shattering friendship was a crumpled piece of paper begging for an absolution the Kid felt powerless to grant.

"You awake, Kid?" Lou's voice was pitched low even though it was obvious no one in the bunkhouse was still sleeping.

In the dim light cast by the moon, the Kid's reluctant nod was barely discernable. "I'm awake. It's all right, you can go back ta sleep now." 

"I don't mind stayin' up if you'd like to talk," the young woman cautiously offered.

Even in the shadows that filled the room, the Kid could see the compassion on the two faces bent over his. Quickly looking away, his eyes pierced the semi-darkness to rest on Hickok. An apprehension the young gunslinger could not hide was evident in the rigid limbs of the supple body. Feeling overwhelmed by the evidence of his friend's feelings, the Kid shifted his gaze to an empty bunk. Even though its silent owner was on a night run, the Kid could imagine the expressive face as clearly as though Ike were there. Lifting his eyes, the Kid recoiled as they fell on features twisted with fury. Cody quickly averted his face and turned his back on the room, covering his head with a pillow. Puzzled by the shadowed glimpse of an emotion he couldn't comprehend, the Kid finally replied, "There's nothin' ta talk about."

"Talkin' in your sleep ain't gonna fix what's botherin' ya, Kid," Buck knowingly pointed out. "You can talk to us; we're your friends."

The Kid winced as though he were in pain. "Sometimes friends are the last ones you should talk to. It only hurts more when they let you down."

"Real friends don't let you down," said Buck, obviously wounded by the Kid's remark.

"Maybe that's been true in your experience, but not in mine." Throwing back his sheet, the Kid pushed to his feet, "You go back to bed. I'm goin' outside for some fresh air."

Almost running from the desolation permeating the room, the Kid crossed to the door and slipped outside. Closing the wood barrier softly behind him, he took a deep breath hoping to calm his nerves. The slight breeze ruffling his hair did nothing to cool the air. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sat on the top step of the porch and let his head drop into his hands emotionally, too weary to support it. When the door suddenly re-opened behind him, he straightened trying to disguise his distress. 

"Kid?"

The softly spoken question was unnecessary to identify the speaker. The Kid knew Lou was the only one with the courage to follow him. "Go back to bed."

"Please," the young woman pleaded, "let me help you." 

"I don't need any help," asserted the Kid. "Now go back to bed."

"Friends don't desert friends when they're hurtin'," protested Lou, an edge in her voice that hadn't been there earlier.

"Don't they?" The Kid stared across the yard to the corral where Katie was barely visible. "Sometimes friends aren't there when you need them the most."

Lou crossed the porch to sit next to the Kid. Focusing her eyes on the Paint, she softly noted, "We're here for you, Kid. We ain't gonna leave."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," the Kid angrily returned. Rising to his feet, he almost ran across the yard to the corral. When Lou didn't follow, he felt relieved. A relief mixed with the bitter taste of disappointment.

* * * *

Sweat poured off Cody's body, matting the blond hair to his head as he struggled to lift a bale of hay. He knew he should wait for Hickok to return to help him, but he didn't want to stop. Leisure only gave him time to think, thoughts that evoked a pain more intense than any he'd felt before.

Nobody had seen his guilt. For a fleeting moment the night before, the darkness that had shrouded the bunkhouse seemed to disappear as his eyes met those of his tormented friend. Instead of pleading for the absolution he craved, he'd turned away and pulled a pillow over his head. As he wallowed in his own private hell, he'd heard the Kid and Lou talking - and was glad he hadn't spoken. The Kid's accusation still rang in his ears, "friends don't desert friends." Cody knew he was the cause of the nightmares. He'd left the Kid to endure unspeakable horror alone. He had abandoned his friend.

What little they knew of the five days the Kid had spent on the work gang had been gleaned from the other survivors. The Kid, himself, never spoke of the experience. If it weren't for the nightmares and the bruises marking the sunburned face, no one would ever have known the young man had been abused.

Forcing his mind and body to concentrate on the heavy load he was trying to lift, Cody pulled on the rope. Ignoring the strain on his muscles, he pulled again.

"Cody," protested Buck from his perch in the loft, "you trying to kill yourself? Wait for Jimmy."

Determined to finish his task, Cody shook his head. Freeing one hand to place it higher on the rope, he grunted as his other arm took the full weight of the hay. Sweat dripped into his eyes momentarily distracting him and he lost his grip. He could feel the rope burn his hands as it slipped from his grasp. Strangely, he felt no fear even though he knew the heavy bale could badly injure or kill him.

"Cody!"

Buck's cry of warning was unnecessary. Cody felt willing to accept the retribution he knew he deserved. Closing his eyes, he waited peacefully. A smile had started to form on his lips when he suddenly felt himself flying through the air. Landing on the hard ground, the breath knocked out of him, he slowly reopened his eyes.

Gasping, as much from fear as his effort to save his friend, Hickok climbed to his feet. Straddling the crumpled figure beneath him, he demanded, "What the hell are you tryin' ta do? Kill yourself?"

"I was doin' my job," Cody angrily retorted. Regaining his feet, he tried to brush the dust off his clothes and body, but the sweat had already turned it into mud.

"Your job doesn't include committin' suicide," snapped Hickok, his own clothes stained by the same mud covering Cody. "Why the hell didn't you wait for me?"

"It's almost lunchtime. I wanted to get it done," mumbled Cody defensively.

"How did you expect to eat with a body all broke up inside?" demanded the irate young gunslinger.

Crossing to the hay, Cody started to retie the bundle; his hands were shaking so badly, he could barely control them. He had no answer for his friend - because he had none for himself. All he knew was that he felt cheated. This time vengeance was not the Lord's. Or the Kid's. It was Cody's and all the wanting in the world couldn't erase that debt.

* * * *

"Yer up, Kid." 

Teaspoon's voice broke through the fog that had plagued him since his return from Prosperity. The Kid knew part of his disorientation was due to the recurring nightmares disrupting his sleep. The other reason he refused to acknowledge even to himself. Only in his dreams did he subconsciously allow the pain and guilt to surface.

His movements lacking their normal agility, he crossed to stand near the corral ready to accept the pouch from Lou. As the thunder of hooves drew closer, he tightened the strap under his chin to keep his hat from blowing off.

In the fading light of the setting sun, he strained his eyes in an effort to pinpoint the other rider's position. His stomach tightened into a hard knot as a blur of movement drew his attention. Any sane person felt a certain amount of fear before he mounted a horse, particularly a night rider. The dangers inherit in the job, such as Indians, bushwhackers, and weather became amplified in the darkness that concealed them.

A dark bundle flew through the air toward his head. Raising his hands, the Kid stumbled slightly as he made a clean catch. Surprised by the pouch's weight, he buried his curiosity and automatically shifted it to the correct position before running to the Appaloosa mare impatiently pawing the ground. Only Teaspoon's firm, gentle, hands kept her from bolting.

Throwing the mochila across the saddle, the Kid quickly grabbed the horn as the older man released his grip. Dust swirled around him as the Kid's feet contacted the ground before he swung up into the saddle. Grabbing the reins that had been wrapped around the horn, he bent low across the mare's neck. The heat emanating from the sweating animal combined with the sultry summer night making it difficult to breath. Lightheaded, his thoughts drifted back to the place that was rarely far from his mind - Prosperity. 

Though it had been almost two weeks, every detail of the ordeal was as clear as though it had just occurred. Convinced by Cody that they deserved a break after their long ride to Fort Laramie, the two riders had entered the town in search of a hot meal. Spotting a saloon owned by Deforest Whitcomb, Cody used his persuasive powers to entice the Kid inside. He had then disappeared with a young saloon girl. An older woman approached the Kid and talked him into being her "good luck charm" while she tried her hand at roulette. When the dealer moved the wheel from a winning number to a losing one, Tulsa protested by slapping him. The dealer's attempted retaliation was blocked by the Kid. Coming to the woman's defense, he'd punched the dealer. A five-day prison sentence had been his reward.

Cody had barely left town to return to Sweetwater before the Kid was pressed into service at a local mine owned by Whitcomb. His feet chained, he was forced to break rocks with a sledgehammer.

On his second night in the compound, he had joined an escape attempt which resulted in the death of Hinton, a black cowboy the Kid had befriended. Accused of the crime, the Kid received a life sentence. He was badly beaten and returned to the rock pile. The naïve boy who'd ridden into Prosperity two days before had died with Hinton.

A few days later in an effort to free her husband, Richard, Tulsa Elliot slept with Whitcomb, who then proceeded to brag about his conquest. That night, while everyone else was asleep, Richard hung himself, no longer able to bear the pain of his wife's apparent defection as well as his own guilt in telling the guards about the escape tunnel. A note left to the Kid begged his understanding.

The other boys and Sam eventually rescued the survivors. A shootout resulted in the deaths of Prosperity's Sheriff and most of its deputies. Tulsa stopped Whitcomb with a bullet before he could leave town. Their deaths had been a catharsis for Tulsa and many of the other prisoners. The Kid had not been so fortunate. He felt as though he were caught in a void from which there was no escape. While his body was free, Prosperity stilled imprisoned his mind.

* * * *

Tonight, the bunkhouse lay quiet. There were no cries of distress to disturb the sleep of its occupants. Strangely, Cody found no peace in the silence. It mocked him, emphasizing his guilt.

Sitting up in the narrow bunk, he disgustedly threw himself off the bed. It wasn't until he felt a hand circle his calf that he realized he wasn't the only one awake. Wondering if his restlessness was the cause of Ike's alertness, he whispered, "Go back to sleep, Ike."

Hands demanded his attention as a cloud crept over the moon. Pushing the insistent fingers away, Cody excused himself. "I can't see what you're trying to say, Ike. Go back to sleep. I'm goin' outside to get some air."

Slipping through the door, Cody closed it softly behind him before sitting down on the step, almost in the same spot where the Kid had sat the night before. His eyes focused on the deeper shadow that was the barn; Cody fought the memories threatening to engulf him. Hands gripping the edge of the porch so tightly the knuckles turned white, felt no discomfort from the slivers of wood driving a path into his fingers and palms. The sensitive flesh where the rope had burned stung with the abuse. Though he was oblivious to the pain, Cody heard the door open behind him. Without turning around, he assured, "I'm all right, Ike. Go back to bed."

"It's not Ike," corrected Jimmy, crossing to sit next to his friend. "I'd like to know what's goin' on."

"I don't know what you mean," Cody innocently returned. "It's hot, so I came out here to see if it would be any cooler."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Hickok calmly replied.

Forcing his fingers to ease their deathly grip, Cody shook his head. "You think you know so much Mr. Wild Bill Hickok, then you tell me why I'm out here." 

"You feel responsible for what happened to the Kid," Jimmy confidently stated.

Cody pushed to his feet and descended the stairs. "That's crazy!"

"Is it?" pressed Hickok, "Then why are you runnin' away again?"

"I'm not runnin'. I just felt like standin' up," Cody defiantly defended.

"The same way you just felt like comin' out here in the first place?" asked Hickok. "The same way you just happened to drop that bale of hay?"

"I don't have to justify myself to you or anyone else," Cody shot back. A hand nervously pushed his hair off his forehead a gesture that broadcast his distress.

His cold features almost menacing in their lack of emotion, Hickok rose to his feet and crossed to the bunkhouse. "You're wrong you know. You may not be able to talk to me, but there is a person who's entitled to know your intentions."

Cody didn't ask who Hickok meant, but the young gunslinger had to be wrong. After what he'd endured, how could the Kid care what happened to William F. Cody?

* * * *

Shots broke the silence of the quiet night. Despite her training, the mare shied and in doing so, saved the Kid's life. A bullet that would've entered his chest grazed his right shoulder instead. Ignoring the pain, the Kid bent low over the lathered neck and drove his heels into the soft stomach. "Go girl!"

More shots rang out followed by screams of rage. Smiling triumphantly, the Kid rode through the attempted ambush. Pounding hooves reverberating behind him made it clear the bandits would not be so easily vanquished. This didn't worry the Kid. Russell, Majors, and Waddell had bought the best horses that could be found west of the Mississippi. Few, if any, could outrun the little mare. Next to Katie, Susie was the Kid's favorite mount. Her speed was only a fraction of the reason. She always gave everything she had, but what endeared her to her present rider was a mischievous streak that often made a ride more exciting than it should've been. Although the other boys looked on the trait with distaste, the Kid found it captivating. Though he never dared to tell the young woman, Susie reminded him of Lou - feisty and loving at the same time.

The echo of the pounding hooves receded. Just when the Kid thought he could slow down, the mare stumbled. Already leaning forward, the Kid sailed over the bent head. Landing on the hard ground, he lay stunned, the breath knocked out of him. Dizzy from the pain in his shoulder, he desperately pulled himself to his knees and listened.

In the distance, he could hear the thundering hooves of his pursuers. The consequence of their proximity diminished however as the little mare's labored breathing penetrated his dazed consciousness. Crawling to her side, he pulled gently on the reins trying to urge her to her feet. Though she valiantly tried to obey, the effort was in vain. Running his hands across the soft flesh, the Kid quickly discovered the reason. A piece of bone was poking through the torn flesh of the right foreleg.

Tears the Kid had no desire to staunch stained his cheeks. Though he knew he would endanger his own life, he pulled his pistol. He had to end Susie's torment. Placing the barrel against the bony forehead, he pulled the trigger. The mare's final sigh echoed through the humid night air and into the Kid's heart, but there was no time to grieve. Pulling the mochila from the saddle, he rose to his feet and started walking briskly away. It wouldn't take his ambushers long to find the dead mare and know he was on foot. Somehow, he had to disappear in a land that jealously guarded its secrets.

* * * *

Teaspoon absently closed the gate of the corral, his eyes never straying from the frolicking colt. Though he'd lost count of the number of foals he'd brought into the world, he never tired of watching them. Their long, gangling legs made them appear almost comical. Each unsteady step was a new adventure. Yet, in an incredibly short time they would flow across the ground with an unmatched beauty and majesty.

Dust swirled around him forcing the older man to reluctantly close his eyes. When the air had finally cleared, he turned to see Marshal Cain tying his horse to the rail in front of the bunkhouse. Strolling across to his friend, Teaspoon called, "Mornin', Sam. What brings you out here at this time of the day?"

"I just received a telegram that might interest you and your riders," explained the marshal. 

Nodding his understanding, Teaspoon gestured to the bunkhouse. "We were just aimin' ta sit down for breakfast. Why don't ya join us?"

"If you don't think Emma would mind," Sam hesitantly agreed.

Teaspoon shook his head. "With Cody around, Emma's gotten into the habit of cookin' extra."

His curiosity aroused, the older man led the way into the bunkhouse. As the others greeted the marshal, he crossed to his place at the head of the table. Whatever news Cain had, it was obvious it wasn't good.

Sam picked up his fork as Emma placed a plate of ham and eggs in front of him. Though he was obviously eager to dig in, he restrained himself. Pulling a telegram from his pocket, he handed it to Teaspoon. For the benefit of the boys and Emma, he said, "That telegram's from Marshal Taylor in Red Butte. It says Fred Buchanan escaped and is headed this way."

"What about his gang?" asked a concerned Teaspoon.

Toying with his fork, Sam reluctantly admitted, "Several of them were spotted in Willow Creek."

"I don't understand." A puzzled frown creasing her petite face, Lou appealed, "What's this got to do with us?"

Carefully laying his fork on the table, Sam explained, "Buchanan is a bushwacker. One of the crimes that put him in jail was for ambushin' a pony express rider. He seems ta think there's a lot of money in those letters you're carryin'." 

"What the marshal is sayin' boys," Teaspoon spoke slowly making sure he had the full attention of each of the young men, "is that you're ta be doubly careful on your rides. If the trail takes you through an area where you could be ambushed, alter your route."

"That could put an extra fifteen, twenty minutes on a run," protested Hickok.

"Let it," Teaspoon calmly stated. "Right now it's important to reach your destination with the pouch. 'til Buchanan's caught, speed will be your least important consideration." 

"Rider comin' in," Buck announced, rising from his seat and hurrying from the room.

"It's about time," said Teaspoon following on the heels of the young Indian. "Monty was due in an hour ago."

The two ran to the barn where a Buckskin waited in the relative coolness of the building's shadow. Teaspoon loosened the reins while Buck tightened the cinch. They were ready when Monty pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted with the mochila in his hands.

The slim rider threw the pouch across the saddle of the buckskin. He had one hand on the horn and the other on the cantle when he breathlessly proclaimed, "The Kid never arrived in Willow Springs last night."

"Did you see anything that might explain why on the trail?" asked Teaspoon, tightening his hold on the bridle.

"Not a sign," the young man reluctantly admitted. "That's one reason why I'm late. I went slower than usual to see if I could find him."

Teaspoon waved the boy up into the saddle. "Thanks, son, we'll take it from here."

"What do you think happened, Teaspoon?" Buck inquired, running after the older man as he headed back to the bunkhouse.

"I think Sam's warning came too late," Teaspoon sadly replied.

As he entered the bunkhouse, Teaspoon unhappily scanned the smiling faces turned his way. It was clear someone had just told a joke. Lou's face was flushed red, while Ike was none too gently patting a coughing Hickok on the back. Leaning on the corner of the table, Emma was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. Teaspoon was sorry he would be forced to turn them into tears of sadness. The only smile that wouldn't disappear was Cody's and that was only because he wasn't smiling. While laughter from the others filled the air, he stared morosely into his untouched food. Absently wondering if the young man was sick, Teaspoon buried his concern. "Boys, when you've finished eatin', I want ya ta saddle up."

Her eyes shifting from Buck's worried face to Teaspoon's, Emma stopped smiling. "What's wrong, Mr. Spoon?"

"The Kid never reached Willow Springs," Teaspoon succinctly replied.

The clatter of dropped forks vibrated around the room. Plates scrapped against the wood surface of the table as they were pushed back. "We're ready now," said Lou, speaking for her fellow riders.

Nodding his satisfaction, Teaspoon waved his hand at the blond young man at the far end of the table. "Not you, Cody. You've got the next run."

"I'm goin' with you," Cody firmly contradicted.

"You'll do what I tell ya ta do, son," argued Teaspoon.

His eyes staring defiantly into the older man's, Cody quietly asserted, "You won't stop me not even it you fire me."

Breaking the gaze, Teaspoon allowed his eyes to scan the faces of the other riders. Puzzlement was clearly visible on each one. "Why is this so important to you, son?"

"I owe the Kid." Crossing to his bunk, Cody made up his bedroll. "And William F. Cody pays his debts."

Throwing his hands up in frustration, Hickok demanded, "What in the hell are you talkin' about? This doesn't have anything to do with what happened in Prosperity, does it?"

"It was my fault," Cody cried, burying his head into the hard mattress on his bunk. His voice muffled, he clarified, "We went to Prosperity because I wanted to go. We were in that bar because I wanted a drink. The Kid suffered because I wanted a hot meal."

"You didn't know, Cody," soothed Buck.

"That didn't help the Kid," Cody angrily noted, raising his head.

Lou laid a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "The Kid doesn't blame you."

"How can you know that?" Backing away, Cody turned angry eyes on the young woman and pointed out, "You've seen his face after those nightmares. You heard him say a friend left him when he needed him the most."

Sadness reflecting from the deep brown eyes, Lou softly appealed, "How do you know that friend is you?"

"Because I know," Cody wearily proclaimed.

The pain of the confession was clearly visible on the expressive face. Remembering his own despair when he'd been forced to leave his friends at the Alamo and their subsequent demise, Teaspoon relented. "All right, Cody, you can come with us."

* * * *

The guards knew about Hinton's escape plans all along, but they knew he wouldn't talk, so they worked on me. I'm sorry you got caught up in this nightmare and for the terrible injustice I've caused you. I haven't the right to ask your forgiveness, only your understanding. Meanwhile, I pray that whatever world I've gone to is better than the one I left behind.

Your friend, Richard

The words rang through the Kid's fevered brain making him cry out in anger and despair. His arms flailed as though to ward off an unseen assailant. When his right arm encountered the unyielding barrier of his hiding place, a hoarse scream bounced off the rocky walls. Abruptly awakened from his nightmare, he clutched his injured shoulder and took deep, even breaths trying to ease the pain shooting through his wounded limb. Fresh blood oozed through the makeshift bandage he'd fashioned, staining his fingers.

"I know I heard somethin' comin' from over here, Milt."

Releasing his shoulder, the Kid cautiously drew his gun and pulled further back into the shadows of the depression he'd discovered. Long before the sun rose that morning he'd started looking for a place to hide. On foot without the cover of darkness, he would quickly be discovered by the men pursuing him across the barren land. The first rays of the sun were streaking the sky when he'd found a depression underneath a rocky outcrop at the bottom of a hill. Desperate, he'd crawled under the rock and into the welcoming shade. Though it was still early, heat was already burning the air making it difficult to breath. Sweat poured from his body, and he had nothing to replace it with. For the first time since he'd become a Pony Express rider, he wished he carried a canteen as many of the others did.

"There's nothin' here." A voice, different from the first, drew the Kid's wandering attention. "You're hearin' things again, Chester."

Obviously affronted, Chester indignantly replied, "If that's so, then you tell me where that boy got off to. He couldn't get far on foot and there ain't a lot of places to hide in these hills."

"Yeah, yeah," Milt reluctantly agreed. "Jus' keep lookin' or the Boss'll have buzzards feedin' on us."

Although he was in agony, the Kid knew he couldn't chance a single movement. Any motion could draw the attention of his adversaries. Even wounded, he was fairly certain he could get the drop on both men, but then he would draw attention to his location.

"Hey, Milt, lookee here," Chester's excited voice called. "This rock don't lay solid on the ground on this side."

Silently cursing Chester's eyesight, the Kid resigned himself to fighting a battle he never sought. What was so important these men had spent all night and all day searching for him? Could it be so important, they were willing to die for it?

* * * *

His eyes scanned the ground, looking for any sign of his friend. Now that he might never get the opportunity, Cody desperately wished he'd talked to the Kid, or at least had told him how sorry he was for what had happened in Prosperity. 

Though he didn't have Buck's tracking skills, even Cody could spot dirt that had been churned up by the sharp hooves of a number of horses. Feeling excited and hopeful, he called to his scattered friends, "Over here, I think I've found something."

While Buck inspected the torn ground, Cody continued his quest. He wanted to be the one to find the Kid. It might help to appease his troubled soul.

Impatience tingeing his voice, Hickok asked, "Whaddya think, Buck?"

"It looks like eight… maybe nine," the Indian amended as he continued his search, "heavy riders waited here a long time."

"For the Kid," Lou apprehensively concluded.

"That doesn't make sense," said Sam. Removing his hat, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve. "If they were waiting here, that means they were specifically after the rider from the Sweetwater Station going east."

"It looks that way," Buck agreed. "The return rider from the Split Rock Station usually rides a little further north."

Replacing his hat to shield his eyes against the blinding sun, Sam reasoned, "That means there's somethin' in that particular pouch Buchanan wants."

"You mean like a letter from his sweetheart?" Hickok sarcastically inquired.

"Lou," Teaspoon dismounted to stand beside Buck. One hand shielding his eyes, he looked up at the young woman. "You picked that pouch up in Three Crossings. Did they say anythin' about its contents?"

Lou closed her eyes as she tried to recall the handoff that had become all but routine in the last few months. "Barney didn't say anythin' about there bein' somethin' special inside. All he could talk about was the weather. The pouch did seem heavier than usual though."

"Did the extra weight seem to be on one side or both sides?" asked the marshal.

Balancing a phantom pouch in her right hand, Lou confidently stated, "One side - the right."

"What do you think, Sam?" asked Teaspoon.

Sadly shaking his head, Cain replied, "I think some fool prospector is sendin' a gold sample home to the family and Buchanan knows about it."

"My riders ain't suppose to be carrin' anythin' like that," protested the older man. "It's against company rules."

"I ain't seen a rule yet that can't be broken for the right price," Sam disgustedly noted.

As he listened to the conversation, Cody's fear and anger grew. Despite his feelings, he relentlessly continued his quest. There was no proof, but he was sure the Kid had escaped the trap that had been set for him. He believed that, because anything else was unacceptable.

A bright color shone among the dull browns of the scorched earth. Bending down, Cody gently touched it. Pressure from his finger broke the thin crust that had formed over the largest drop.

"Did you find something, Cody?" called Buck, noting his friend's concentration.

"Yeah," almost choking on the word, Cody replied, "blood."

* * * *

"You found it," Milt's raspy voice echoed against the stone walls. "You check and see if the boy's hidin' inside."

Sand crunched beneath the weight of a heavy foot. Tensing, the Kid blinked the sweat out of his eyes and gripped the handle of his gun tighter. However, the hand, wet with perspiration slipped slightly. Closing his eyes against the pain, he brought his right hand up to support his left.

Just short of the boulder, the footsteps stopped. The next sound the Kid heard was that of a pistol being cocked.

"If that boy's hidin' under there I'd be real stupid goin' in after 'im," Chester noted. "He's liable to shoot me."

The laughter in his voice clearly audible, Milt said, "I was wonderin' when you'd figure that out."

"You'd have let me get killed," observed an obviously angry Chester.

Unrepentant, Milt laughed. "Anyone that stupid deserves to be dead."

Fury pitching his high voice up another octave, Chester yelled, "If you're hidin' under that rock, boy, toss out yer gun or I'll throw some lead in."

Surrender was not a concept that came easy to the Kid. Beatings at the Prosperity mine had forced him to become submissive. He had hated himself for doing so. It was not in his nature to watch and do nothing while another man was beaten. But he'd done it to stay alive. Now Chester was asking him to submit again. Despite his dry and cracked lips there was a bitter taste in the Kid's mouth. When was life no longer worth living? Had Richard found the answer the Kid sought?

"I'm gonna count to ten, boy," shouted Chester. "If you ain't out here by then, I start shootin'."

Milt's laughter resounded around the small enclosure. "You're gonna feel pretty foolish if that boy ain't in there."

"He's in there," Milt confidently stated. "One . . ."

As each number rang in his ears, the Kid fought the memories. As long as he was alive there was a chance. Did he have the strength to challenge fortune? The number nine was rolling off Chester's lips when he threw out his gun. "I'm comin' out."

"You go find the boss, Milt," Chester triumphantly ordered. "Tell 'im I found the boy."

* * * *

Teaspoon felt a deep sadness as he knelt next to the little mare. Despite her feistiness, Susie had been one of his favorites. He'd lost count of the number of small holes she'd torn in his clothing with her teeth. To most of the boys, she was mean-spirited, but the older man knew better. She had been playful. He had learned to enjoy their games of keep away almost as much as the mare. As vermin crawled in and out of the bloody wounds on the head and leg, Teaspoon closed his eyes to block out the obscene sight. What an ignominious end for such a beautiful creature.

"The Kid couldn't have gotten too far on foot," observed Hickok, brushing the dust off his shirt. We should find him soon."

Beneath the dirt, Lou's face grew paler. "What if Buchanan finds him first?"

"The Kid can take care of himself," Hickok angrily reminded the young woman. "Why you always gotta think the worse?"

Over the past few months, Teaspoon had noticed the unusual friendship that had developed between the Kid and Lou. At first he was happy for the two boys. When you were an orphan, you were often forced to make yourself a family, which was exactly what all his boys had done. Lately though, it seemed as though the Kid and Lou had become too close. In a vocation as dangerous as theirs that wasn't always wise.

Ruefully aware he could do nothing for the dependable little mare, Teaspoon rose to his feet and crossed to his horse. As he watched Buck examine the tracks, he swallowed a mouthful of warm water from his canteen. Despite the temperature of the sun-heated liquid, it satisfied his thirst. Putting the cap back on the canteen, Teaspoon asked, "How far behind them do you think we are, Buck?"

"I'd say this happened around midnight," interpreted Buck. "Which means the Kid would've had only about four or five hours before dawn."

"What's the sun got to do with anything?" Hickok demanded.

"The Kid knew Buchanan or someone was after him," Teaspoon patiently explained. "He'd know he'd have to take cover before it became light enough to see him."

"So why the hell are we hangin' around here?" an exasperated Cody implored. "We gotta find the Kid."

Unlacing the cinch, Teaspoon removed his saddle. As he wiped the sweaty horse down with his blanket, his soothing voice reassured, "I know how ya feel, son. We'll find the Kid, but first we gotta cool these horses down. We been ridden hard."

"We can do that later," argued Cody.

"Any later and these horses will be dead," Teaspoon prophesied.

Sam, Buck, and Ike followed the older man's lead while Hickok and Lou appeared to side with Cody. Realizing he had a mini-mutiny on his hands, Teaspoon pressed, "You won't be much help to the Kid if you lose your mounts. A half hour here could save us an hour later on."

Their reluctance obvious, Hickok and Lou dismounted and unsaddled their mounts. Cody didn't move. He sat atop his horse looking like a statue staring at the trail that disappeared over a low hill. 

Teaspoon had been at the Alamo when it was under siege by Santa Ana's troops. He'd volunteered to ride for help. His initial display of courage had placed him in his own private hell when every defender of the fort had been slain by the Mexican Army. Sometimes, Teaspoon still felt as though he'd deserted his friends. So he knew how Cody felt, which meant he also knew there was nothing he could say that would comfort the troubled soul.

* * * *

The sun was arcing across the western sky. The lateness of the day, however, did not seem to diminish the sphere's intensity. It beat down on the Kid's head with an unrelenting force. As uncomfortable as he was, the Kid intuitively realized things were going to get a lot worse when the boss arrived.

"You done give us a lot of trouble, boy." Poking a finger through the greasy beard lining his jaw, Chester scratched his chin. "You're gonna be real sorry you didn't give up a long time ago. The heat has made the boss real surly."

"When someone's tryin' to kill me, I see no reason to make it easier for them," the Kid sarcastically returned.

Further conversation was deemed unnecessary by both men as the thunder of hooves reached their ears. The Kid closed his eyes against the dust swirling around him. As hard as he fought it, he couldn't restrain a cough. A mouthful of dust followed the air inside and down his throat. Choking, he tried to spit out the grit, but there was no moisture within the narrow passage to assist him.

"So this is the boy that gave me so much trouble."

The words were matter of fact, yet the threat was clearly audible. Opening his eyes, the Kid looked up at one of the tallest man he had ever seen. It was clear by the bulge around his waist that Buchanan enjoyed his food and drink.

"Do you know who I am, boy?"

With as much defiance as he could display, the Kid haughtily replied, "Fred Buchanan, a thief and a murderer."

"Milt." Ignoring the Kid, Buchanan turned to the skinny little man hovering by his side, "Where's the pouch?"

The corner of his eye twitching, Milt nervously suggested, "He was hidin' under that rock. Maybe it's in there?"

"Why don't you find out?" The quiet menace was clearly audible in Buchanan's voice. 

Confident his subordinate would follow his orders, the outlaw never took his eyes off his prey. Determined not to reveal his fear, the Kid stared back. His muscles ached as he fought to retain the rebellious stance. Looking up into the burning eyes, he could tell his death would not be an easy one, but that it was inevitable. Even with this knowledge, he knew he'd have to fight. If Richard had held out for one more day, he'd be back with his wife. It was a truth that left a bitter taste in the Kid's mouth.

A quiver in his voice making his words difficult to understand, Milt said, "The pouch ain't there, boss."

"Then where is it?" The question was calmly delivered. Flushed cheeks and clenched hands conveyed Buchanan's anger.

Shaking his head, Milt reluctantly admitted, "I don't know."

"You know though, doncha, boy?" Advancing on his adversary, Buchanan noted, "You'll save yourself a lot of pain if you tell me where it is."

"I can't do that." The Kid was proud he could defy the larger man. 

"You're willin' to die for a letter to Aunt Martha?" asked Buchanan, attempting to trivialize the contents of the pouch.

Showing less fear than the outlaw's own henchmen, the Kid pointed out, "I took an oath."

"I can make you break that oath," Buchanan observed grabbing a fistful of light brown hair and pulling on it.

Blinking back involuntary tears, the Kid defiantly contradicted, "You can try."

* * * *

Cody fumed as Buck dismounted. Progress had been slow since they'd resumed their journey. The hard, arid ground was reluctant to reveal its secrets. Only someone who was raised to decipher the mysteries of the spirits could find the answers. As impatient as he was, Cody was grateful for his Kiowa friend's skill. Without Buck, they would be wandering the countryside in ignorance.

"What have you got, Buck?" asked Teaspoon, leaning forward over his horse's neck.

His hands moving lightly across the ground, Buck said, "It looks like Buchanan's men split up. They must've lost the trail."

"That's the best news I've heard all day," Teaspoon rejoiced.

Wiping the sweat off his face with his bandanna, Sam obviously didn't feel as optimistic as the older man. "Any of them going in the same direction as the Kid?"

Buck threw a handful of dirt to the ground and rose to his feet. "Two."

Even though his clothes were soaked with sweat, Cody felt a chill crawl up his spine. Slowed by the vague trail only Buck could read, would they be in time to save their friend? Guilt stabbed at his heart, and he knew it always would if the Kid died without knowing his remorse.

"Look!" Hope conflicting with fear on her tired face, Lou pointed to a cloud of dust rising above a hill a couple miles ahead.

"What is it?" demanded Hickok, looking at each of his friends hoping to find an answer. "Some kind of storm?"

Climbing back into the saddle, Buck shook his head. "That's made by man, not nature."

His own suspicions confirmed, Cody kicked his mount in the sides. Surprised by the request, the black reared. As soon as all four feet were firm on the ground, he took off at a gallop. Above the thunder of hooves, Cody could hear Teaspoon yelling for him to slow down. A hot breeze slammed into Cody's face as they raced across the barren land ignoring the older man's advice. The Kid's cries for help seemed to whisper past his ears, carried by an uncaring wind. This time he would be there for his friend. He wouldn't desert him again.

Foam lathered the black's neck when they breasted the hill. As Cody pulled him to a stop, the gelding bowed his head, his sides heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Cody would've regretted his impetuous speed if the scene lying before him had been less horrifying.

In a valley between the hill where Cody watched and a smaller hill was a group of men. Lined up on either side of the lower slopes, they were enthusiastic spectators to a grim drama playing out between them. Two horses raced up and down the gauntlet. The rider on one mount was leading the other. Behind the riderless horse, a body was being dragged. A rope tied to the horn stretched back to the bound wrists of the victim. Each time the horses turned, the tortured man was in danger of being stepped on by one of them.

Uncontrollable rage swept through Cody. Though he heard the others riding up behind him, he chose not to wait. He had played it safe before and it had almost cost the Kid his life. He was through with caution. Spurring his exhausted mount, he raced down the hill. Wishing he could use his beloved Hawkins, yet realizing it wasn't feasible, he drew his pistol.

Bullets flew past his head - an inconvenience he ignored. His attention was focused on the riderless horse. It was no longer being led, but was running loose. Fear was clearly audible in the distraught animal's cries.

Holstering his gun, Cody bent low over the gelding's neck and pursued the runaway. A sudden sharp pain in his right side almost made him lose his balance. Gasping for breath, he glanced down to see blood oozing from a gash gouged across his ribs. A red stain spread across the fabric of his shirt, but he felt distanced from the pain. It was not important. Stopping the riderless horse was.

It wasn't until his vision started to blur that he got scared. He couldn't pass out, not when he was so close to his objective. Digging his heels into his mount's sides, Cody leaned down desperately trying to catch the runaway's lead rope. Several passes only produced a handful of air. Almost crying in his frustration, Cody closed his eyes and angrily swung his hand again. It wasn't until the rope was in his fist, and he was pulling the two horses to a walk, that Cody consciously realized he'd been successful.

Foam coated the necks of both horses as Cody pulled them to a stop. Looping the lead rope around his saddle horn, he dropped his reins. He had spent a good part of a week training his horse not to move when the reins were on the ground. This was the first time he'd felt his time hadn't been wasted.

Quickly dismounting, Cody pulled a knife from his saddlebags and crossed to the dusty figure lying motionless on the ground. As he sawed through the rope, Cody almost wept in fear and frustration. Was he too late? Was the Kid dead already?

Finally released from its bondage, Cody turned the body over onto its back. Though covered with dirt and blood, the face was clearly recognizable. Putting a hand on the bleeding chest, he felt for a heartbeat. A tear he had no desire to hide rolled down his cheek as he watched his hand rise slowly.

Returning to his feet, Cody almost ran for his canteen. Unscrewing the lid, he gently lifted the battered head and slowly poured water between the bruised and swollen lips. His effort was rewarded when pain-filled blue eyes locked with his own. Impossibly, the lips moved as if the Kid were trying to speak. Cautiously massaging a dirty shoulder, Cody soothed, "It's all right, Kid. It's over, you're gonna be as good as new just as soon as we get you to back to Emma."

When the mouth continued to move, Cody leaned close, practically putting his ear on the Kid's lips. Though the words were slurred and badly pronounced, Cody understood the Kid's instructions: "Pouch in hole under rock."

"We'll find it Kid," assured Cody, marveling at his friend's dedication.

Cody's grip involuntarily tightened as dizziness assailed him again. Dust and the sound of hooves announced the arrival of reinforcements. Coughing as the dirt found its way down his throat, Cody clutched his side when pain reminded him of his own injury.

"What kind of stunt was that, Cody?" demanded Jimmy, oblivious to his friend's distress. "You coulda gotten yerself killed ridin' through those guns like that."

Kneeling next to the Kid, Lou carefully restrained her real feelings for the man she loved as she defended, "While we were busy stoppin' those guns, Cody was savin' the Kid's life."

"Yeah," Buck noted with satisfaction. "Neither Buchanan or his men'll be bushwackin' any more riders."

"Pushin' up daisies is more like it," Hickok agreed.

Ignoring the conversation, Teaspoon crossed to Cody's side. "Are you all right, son?" 

The concerned voice partially broke through Cody's pain dominated world. The coughing tore at his insides, making it impossible to speak, so he simply nodded his reassurance. Even as his head continued the up and down motion, Cody felt his consciousness slipping away. Desperately, he panted, "Pouch . . . hole . . . rock."

The distorted shape of puzzled faces followed him into oblivion.

* * * *

His body spasmed as his eyes fell on the contorted face of his friend. He crawled across to hug the tangling legs to his chest only to find he was no longer in the crowded prison cell but alone in a barren land. From over the hill came the sound of hooves. Running to the crest, he saw an Appaloosa mare racing up the hill toward him. Stretched behind her was a rope, and at the end of that rope was a body. As the horse drew closer, he could see a bone was sticking out of the horse's right foreleg; an injury that did nothing to slow the little mare down. As she drew abreast of her audience, she pulled to a stop. Of their own volition, his eyes ran along the rope to where it looped around the neck of a man. Fearful of what he would find, he turned the body over to stare into the face of his friend. "Richard!"

This time, the Kid didn't need Buck's urging to awake from his nightmare. The intensity of the emotions assailing him had left him breathless. Mindful of the cracked ribs and cuts he's sustained in his last aborted ride, he slowly sat up.

A full moon lit the room; its glow illuminated the concern on the faces of his friends. It had been almost a week since they'd saved his life. Time spent recovering from a flesh wound on his right shoulder, broken ribs, and uncountable cuts and bruises. Up until tonight, pain and exhaustion had been his only companions through the long nights. Now, however, it appeared as though the nightmares had returned. Starting as they had in the past, they soon became distorted by recent events.

"Are you all right, Kid?" Lou's softly spoken question broke the heavy silence permeating the room.

"I'm fine." The quiver in the Kid's voice contradicted his attempt at assurance. "Go back to sleep."

Cody shook his head. "Not this time Kid. It's time you and me have it out." His movements slow and careful, Cody slipped down from the top bunk. "Lou, Jimmy, Ike, would ya mind leavin' us alone?"

As the others cooperatively filed out of the bunkhouse, the Kid shakily rose to his feet. He wasn't sure what Cody had in mind, but he was sure it wouldn't be pleasant.

"Kid if you take one more step," Cody warned, "I'll knock you down and tie you up. I may not be in the best shape, but neither are you."

The innocence on his face never disappeared as the Kid assured, "I'm not goin' anywhere. I just wanted to stretch."

"Yeah, sure," Cody muttered in obvious disbelief.

Angered by the condescending tone in his friend's voice, the Kid angrily demanded, "What's the idea of throwing people out of their beds in the middle of the night?"

"It wasn't my nightmare that woke everyone up," reminded Cody.

Acknowledging the truth of the statement, the Kid returned to his bunk and leaned against its solid strength. Dropping his gaze, he quietly pressed, "What's this all about Cody?"

"It's about your nightmares. It's about what I did to cause them." Clearly agitated, Cody paced the short width of the bunkhouse. "It's about my quitting the Pony Express."

The apathy that had marked his earlier response disappeared as the Kid demanded, "Why would you do that?"

"So we can all get a full night's sleep for one thing," Cody disgustedly replied. 

Putting a hand on his friend's arm to restrain him, the Kid noted, "Cody you're not making any sense. Why do you wanna quit the Pony Express?"

"I don't wanna, but if it's the only way to give you piece of mind, I'll do it." Shame marking the tired face, Cody admitted, "I heard what you told Lou about how a friend wasn't there when you needed him. I know you meant me. I'm the one who left you in Prosperity."

"You're also the one who helped save my life there, and again less than a week ago," the Kid countered. Sitting down on his bunk, he continued, "I told you to leave me in Prosperity. If there's any blame, it on my shoulders. You don't have to prove your friendship to me Cody."

"If that were true, you wouldn't still be havin' nightmares," Cody sadly observed.

Closing his eyes, the Kid finally disclosed, "I had a friend in that prison. He hung himself."

"Richard Elliot, Tulsa's husband," Cody elaborated, sitting on the bunk next to the Kid. Relief was audible in the compassionate tones as he theorized, "Richard was the friend who wasn't there when you needed him?"

For a while, the only sound in the room came from the breeze rustling the curtains. The Kid had planned to go to the grave without ever telling anyone what Richard had done. Now he realized, that to save this friendship, he would have to betray another. In a voice barely loud enough to be heard, he admitted, "Richard left me a note before he died. It said he was the one who told the guards about our escape tunnel."

"He didn't have much choice, Kid," Cody pointed out. "They had his wife."

Tears streaming down his cheeks, the Kid demanded, "How can you defend him? We were his friends. He betrayed us and Hinton died for it."

"If it had been Lou they were holdin' instead of Tulsa, what would you have done?" Cody quietly appealed.

His eyes raising to meet Cody's, the Kid reluctantly granted, "The same thing Richard did." 

Gently massaging his friend's tense shoulder, Cody sadly observed, "He did what he had to do, but he couldn't live with it. Not only did he betray you, he betrayed himself."

"In his note," the Kid whispered seeing in his mind the body that haunted his sleep, "he said that even if I couldn't forgive him, he hoped I'd understand."

"Do you forgive him?" asked Cody.

"No," the Kid reluctantly confessed.

Wincing at the pain he saw on the handsome face, Cody pressed, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," the Kid conceded, "now I do. It's strange that I can do one without the other."

Rising to his feet, Cody thoughtfully noted, "A mind can be easy to convince. Sometimes it takes the heart a little longer to understand."

A worried gaze locking on his friend's face, the Kid hesitantly appealed, "You aren't still thinking of quitting, are you?'

"Not if I can get a decent night's sleep I won't," smiled Cody, crossing to the door to call the others back in.

Lying back on his bunk, the Kid sadly warned, "No promises."

"In that case," Cody thoughtfully asserted, "maybe now would be a good time to volunteer for the night runs."


End file.
